


use somebody

by bodhirookes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feminization, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pure Tomfoolery, Shameless Smut, Strength Kink, both of those are very light, oh boy where do i start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 21:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirookes/pseuds/bodhirookes
Summary: “You’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met,” Shane says over the sound of Ryan’s workout noises, which are equal parts distracting and hideous. “Why can’t you just be a lazy asshole like the rest of us?”“I have a figure and reputation to maintain,” Ryan grits out, not even pausing to look at him. “Can’t be a big, bad ghost hunter without my guns.”Or, Shane has a thing for Ryan's muscles and Ryan has a thing for Shane having a thing.





	use somebody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abovetheruins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/gifts).



> Once again, you can all thank [@abovetheruins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/works) for this nonsense. Here’s our Bergarma and thirsty bottom!Shane love child. I would be nowhere (AKA the pits of hell) without her to encourage my BFU shenanigans. Kayla’s really been kicking my desire to write Shyan fic after Shyan fic into high gear so you guys might be getting a bunch of stuff soon woohoo!!!! 
> 
> TJ is still a part of their crew in this fic because we ain’t boo boo the fools in this house (we are but… we ain’t). Also, there is some light Dom/sub stuff ig and some light feminization on Shane's part so be aware of that! I'm not a Dom/sub master (hah) and this isn't really meant to be a fic about that, but it be there and it be like that sometimes.
> 
> Title is from the song Use Somebody by Kings of Leon because I enjoy 1) that song and 2) a nice play on words. Thanks to Kayla for beta reading this and screaming into the void w me about Ryan's obscene muscle mass.

“Do you really have to do that here?” 

Ryan responds with another squat and a grunt, much to Shane’s dismay. He watches as Ryan sinks towards the floor, thighs and calves tightening, and wonders what kind of bullshit he must have pulled in a past life to end up here, in his own personal hell. 

They’re staying at some grimy motel out in the middle of Actual Barren Wasteland, Missouri, investigating an abandoned hospital from the 70s. Fortunately for Shane, the room comes with wifi, but unfortunately for Ryan, it does not come with a 24 hour fitness center. 

Scratch that. It’s definitely unfortunate for both of them. 

Shane had suggested that Ryan just… _not_ exercise for once in his life, but Ryan did what he always does best: ignore every word Shane says ever. So now, while Shane is in bed in his pajamas, laptop on his stomach and _The Munsters_ on their shitty TV, Ryan is in nothing but shorts and a tank top, working out. So far, Shane has had to watch Ryan stretch, jog in place, do jumping jacks, and now squats. 

There’s only so much one person can take. Especially someone who is very gay and very gay for Ryan Bergara and his muscles. 

“You’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met,” Shane says over the sound of Ryan’s workout noises, which are equal parts distracting and hideous. “Why can’t you just be a lazy asshole like the rest of us?”

“I have a figure and reputation to maintain,” Ryan grits out, not even pausing to look at him. “Can’t be a big, bad ghost hunter without my guns.” 

“You’re only one of those things, and even that’s up for debate, buddy.” 

“You know, I can’t even tell which one you’re referring to. That’s kind of flattering.” 

Shane purses his mouth, trying not to admit that he thinks Ryan is pretty big in every category besides height because that would ruin his mission. He doesn’t want to give Ryan the satisfaction of knowing that this whole working out while in close quarters thing is _really, really_ doing it for him. 

“I was referring to ghost hunter, if that’s what you’re calling yourself these days.” 

“Oh?” Ryan laughs, and then makes another one of his ridiculous noises. Shane accidentally glances over when Ryan is mid-slut drop, ass cheeks perfectly outlined by his tight shorts, and almost goes into cardiac arrest. “What would you call it then, Mr. I Have ‘Half-Hearted Ghost Hunter’ In My Insta Profile?” 

Shane laughs back, but it sounds tight around the edges, even to him. “Same thing I called your husband Mothman: windbiter.” 

Ryan turns around, hands on his hips. There’s a light flush on his cheeks, and a barely-there sheen of sweat on his throat and forehead, and Shane would very much like to die This Instant. 

“Windbiter? That was dumb the first time you said it, and it’s even dumber now.” 

“Not as dumb as your noises.” Shane fires back, desperately trying to keep his cool and his bantz up to par. Ryan is staring at him, head tilted the way it does when he’s suspicious and looking for clues. 

“My noises are totally normal. You guys are just asshats because no one can even compare to my level of calorie shredding.” 

Instead of responding, Shane makes a horrid noise that sounds somewhere between a groan and a sneeze. He pantomimes lifting weights, and makes the noise again when he brings his hands down to his chest. 

“Fuck you.” Ryan says, clearly trying not to smile. “I don’t sound like that!” 

“You absolutely fucking do,” Shane insists. “‘Ah, man-- _hmff--_ you wish you could-- _huah--_ lift like me, dude-- _augh--_ I am the Jesus Christ Superstar-- _hnnng--_ of lifting, broski. Better- _a_ _hhuh--_ watch your bitches or I’ll-- _oooh yeah, huahg--_ steal them right out from under you, brah.’ Try and tell me that that’s not a directly quoted conversation you’ve had with someone before.” 

“I think you’re just jealous of me.” Ryan says, instead of saying no, it’s not, since Shane does in fact know better. 

“Yeah,” Shane replies, deadpan. “I’m sooo jealous of you because you can touch your toes and make douchey Ace McGee noises while doing so.” 

“My noises are perfectly normal! Maybe if you worked out more than once a year in a cheerleader outfit at the office, you would know that!” 

Shane makes another horrible noise, and Ryan laughs, stepping closer to their bed. 

“Shane Madej, I will rip your mouth off of your head.” 

_“Hmpff.”_ is his reply to that, and some more weight lifting imitations. 

“At least I don’t make noises like that while I’m having sex, you fucking freak.” 

“Yes you fucking do!” Shane squawks, because _how dare he._ “Your noises get twenty million times worse during sex, you lying liar who lies.” 

“I’m sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you over the memory of you begging me to ‘fuck you so hard you’d be able to feel it during the meeting next week, Ry, please please please--’”

Shane launches Ryan’s pillow at its owner’s head, and Ryan catches it easily, laughing. 

“I don’t sound like that, jackass.” 

“Not so fun when someone else does it to you, is it?” 

“Whatever,” Shane sniffs, trying to return to his laptop. “At least that was beneficial for both of us. Your noises are beneficial to literally no one.” 

“My noises are fine, you big baby.” 

“I beg to differ. All I ever heard from the Testies was ‘Ryan’s so loud, why is he like that!’ and ‘Ryan’s noises make me want to fling myself into the cardio barre mirrors!’ and so forth. All I ever hear with my noises is for you to tell me to keep going.” 

Ryan tilts his head the other way, and instead of a curious look, Shane gets a leer. It makes his already-skittering heart beat even harder, and makes his skin go from flushed to itchy and hot. He feels like he needs to take off every single layer of his clothes, and maybe even his skin, too, just to keep himself from suffocating. 

“Not really a fair comparison, since I’m the only one who gets to hear those noises,” Ryan says, and the ‘I better be the only one who _ever_ hears them.’ is left unsaid, but heavily implied. Shane swallows, trying to get himself under control. 

“Maybe you should take a page out of my book then, and _keep those noises to yourself.”_

Ryan stares at him for a long, long moment, and Shane, who knows Ryan almost better than he knows himself, has no idea what he’s going to do or say next. And then Ryan takes a deep breath, brings one knee down to the carpet in a perfectly executed lunge, and makes one of his _huah_ noises that drives everyone they know insane. 

Shane responds in kind, because he refuses to back down. _“Heeng.”_

_“Huwahh.”_

_“Mmphuh.”_

_“Ahhugh.”_

This goes on for almost a minute before Shane’s phone starts ringing, cutting them both off. Ryan stands up from his lunge, mouth still hanging open and eyebrows squished together in question. Shane thinks he looks absolutely adorable. 

The name on his screen says ‘Teej Monster’ and Shane answers, his own questioning look in place. 

“What’s up, TJ?” 

“Could you two possibly shut the fuck up for a minute?” 

Shane bursts out laughing. “Sorry, man.” 

“I get that Bergara’s gotta get his leg day in somehow, but none of us want to hear about it, you fuckin’ freaks. Stop with the noises. Devon has threatened to come over and kick your asses five times in the past ten minutes, and frankly, I agree.” 

“Sorry guys,” Shane says, grinning at Ryan. “We’ll keep it down.” 

“Yeah, I bet you will,” TJ says, in a way that very clearly states he does not think they will at all, and hangs up while Shane’s still laughing. 

At Ryan’s amused smile, Shane tells him about it. “Devon wants to kill us, apparently. I think we should stop with the noises.” 

“You’re the one who instigated it, big guy. That’s on you.” 

“Me!” Shane almost yells it, but reigns it back in at the last minute, thinking about TJ’s call and the fond and exasperated face Devon’s probably wearing right now. “I wouldn’t have had to point it out if you knew how to keep the noises silent like everyone else.” 

“I can see right through you,” Ryan says, and goes back to his lunges. It’s accompanied by one of his noises, but much quieter this time, conscientious of Devon and TJ right next door. “I know you love my workout noises.” 

“I really, really don’t.” 

“They get you all worked up, like some primal caveman urge.” Ryan grunts, and Shane doesn’t know how he said it with a straight face, since Shane has to clap a hand over his mouth as soon as Ryan utters the words. “They get you super hot and bothered.” 

“You’re high,” Shane giggles, voice muffled by his hands. “High as a kite, Bergara. Not even a trash can would find your workout noises sexy.”

 _“You’re_ high. My noises incite only the most devastating, uncontrollable sexual desire.” 

“The fact that you make exaggerated shitting noises and then think they will evoke some sort of pavlovian response is very telling of your character. I’m breaking up with you.” 

“Why would you want to break up with all of this?” Ryan asks, trying his best to keep a straight face. He looks Shane dead in the eyes as he goes down into another lunge, leg and arm muscles bunching up, expression furrowed into one of intense concentration, and makes another quiet but no less abominable noise. 

Shane falls back onto his pillow, laughing as loudly as he dares. Ryan gets back into a standing position and watches as he loses it, and even through the fit of laughter, Shane can see how soft his face is. Knowing it’s for him, and him alone, makes Shane’s stomach flutter. 

Ryan eventually goes back to exercising as Shane’s peals of laughter swell and then die out. Shane watches as he does more jumping jacks, narrowly missing the ancient TV set with his flailing hands. He takes in the sweat gathering on Ryan’s skin again, and the flush traveling over the rest of his face and down his neck, and the humor in the situation takes a sharp turn. Shane finds himself back at square one, and willing to pay superstar Jesus Christ or anyone else involved in his fate to give him a break. 

“Ryan,” Shane whines, something he only does in desperate times calling for desperate measures. “Please stop with exercising and come lay down with me.” 

Ryan does actually stop for a second, eyeing Shane and the bed with interest, but then picks it up again. “I’m almost done, dude.” 

“That’s what you always say when you still plan on going for another half an hour.” 

“You already survived the first half an hour.” 

Shane gives him a look. “I know you’re an optimist by nature, but that was not at all what I would call surviving. I only put up with it in the first place because you’re so darn cute.” 

“I have to workout if I want to stay that way.” 

“I will smother you.” 

“With your love?” 

“Not even close, stud.” 

Ryan rolls his eyes at Shane, making another choked-off grunting noise. Shane winces like Ryan made it through a megaphone. 

“Just give me fifteen more minutes and then we can canoodle.” 

“Well I definitely don’t want you near me after saying the word ‘canoodle’, you fifth grader.” 

Ryan flips him off, and then heads over to the wall next to the TV. Shane watches Ryan slide down it until he’s in danger of falling on his ass, and then stays there, breathing deeply. 

“I thought it was leg day,” Shane says. He knows this exercise well, that it’s one of Ryan’s favorites because it makes his abs feel like they’re on fire and his legs like they’re going to fall off of his body and “Beauty is pain and all that jazz.” His mouth goes dry at the thought of Ryan’s abs contracting somewhere underneath his sweaty tank top. “Your abs are not on your legs, unless I got that Anat and Phys course in high school all wrong.” 

“I’m doing full body. You should actually listen to me when I talk about working out and not TJ when he’s just harassing me.” 

“TJ makes sense when he talks. All I hear when you talk about working out is _grunt grunt huahg oh yeahhhh babyyyyy grunt huah my glutes are totes gonna look sick as frick bro hmmgpf.”_

Behind his head, Shane feels someone thump on the wall and the distinct sound of a TV being turned up. He laughs, thumping the wall back, imagining TJ and Devond moaning and groaning about their stupid ass coworkers. 

Ryan doesn’t even grace him with a response to that, just continues to grit his teeth and count to himself. People usually look pretty ridiculous when they’re working out, but even though Ryan’s noises leave something to be desired, he looks pretty good while he’s exercising. Not that Shane will ever admit that unless facing death.

He’s not even trying to peel his eyes away from Ryan’s tensed form at this point. Ryan’s got his eyes closed in concentration, and Shane uses that as an excuse to check his boyfriend out from head to toe in this wall-sit position. His calves look like marble from a combination of the lighting and their general definition; his arm muscles can only be described as bulging, biceps a pair of rounded out grapefruits that make Shane squirm just looking at them; his collarbones are glittery with sweat, neck of the tank top drooping down and wrecked from Ryan using it to wipe sweat off of his chin; and his _throat--_

Shane inhales unsteadily, and before he gives his mouth the go-ahead to carry out the plan, he finds himself saying: 

“If I help you, will you finish up faster?” 

Ryan cracks his eyes open, mouth freezing mid-count. 

“What?” 

In for a penny, in for a pound. 

“You know, help you out.” 

Ryan’s face changes from confused to humored. “How are _you_ going to help me out, Madej? You despise exercising.” 

Shane panics very viciously for a second, knowing this information to be true and knowing that Ryan is right to call him out on his bluff. He scrambles for anything salvagable in his big, gay brain, for any excuse that could possibly fly with someone as smart and quick-footed as Ryan Bergara, and eventually blurts out: 

“You’re always bragging about how you could bench press me without breaking a sweat.” 

Ryan’s face changes again to barely concealed surprise. “You want me to bench press you.” 

Shane forces himself to shrug nonchalantly. “Duh. I want to see if your muscles live up to the hype.” 

_ABORT ABORT ABORT_ Shane’s brain screams at him, because that’s way, way too close to the truth for comfort, but Ryan seems to take it in a very literal sense. 

“Obviously they live up to the hype, dude,” Ryan scoffs. “I bench press your weight and then some on the reg. Bench pressing you would be a breeze.” 

_Oh Christ, that’s hot_ Shane’s traitorous brain sends out to every other part of his body, throat going tight and dick _\--well._

Instead of entertaining the sex fantasies, Shane puts on his best brave face and waves a hand in Ryan’s direction. 

“All right, let’s see it then, Hulk Hogan.” 

Ryan meets his challenging look with one of his own and tips forward off of the wall. Shane works on calming himself down as Ryan arranges himself on the floor of their seedy motel room, head and back flat and his knees bent so that his feet are planted firmly on the carpet. He thinks it’ll be just fine, almost, as Ryan gets comfortable and stretches his arms out a little. 

“Get your Sasquatch ass over here.” 

Shane slips out of bed and goes to him, heart thudding in his chest. Ryan picked a spot where Shane would be able to stretch out without hitting a bed, table, or the wall, which is a miracle in itself. Ryan lifts his arms above his body, like he’s actually holding up a barbell, and flexes his fingers.

“Use the wall to lower yourself down, like a spider crawl.” 

Shane does as he’s told. He leans forwards until his hands touch the wall and uses it to slowly lower his body down to Ryan’s. He stops once he’s hovering right above Ryan’s upturned hands; Ryan tells him to flip over, and Shane does so carefully. When it’s all said and done, Ryan has one hand cradled under Shane’s upper back and the other under the crook of his knees. 

“Cross your legs together and let go of the wall.” 

Shane, once again, does as he’s told, and then suddenly the only thing holding him up is Ryan’s hands. For a single, blissful moment, Shane is suspended in the air, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed loosely over his chest so that he looks like a mummy. It’s kind of cool that Ryan can hold him up like this, without his arms shaking, and thinks to himself, _huh, this isn’t so bad._

And then Ryan releases a long, steady breath and lowers his arms until Shane can feel the heat of Ryan’s body on his back, and then pushes him back up to where he started. As it turns out, Ryan actually can bench press him, without so much as a curse or a tremor in his arms, and Shane--

Shane really doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“Easy peasy, big guy,” Ryan says, laughing a little, and _fuck_ him, he doesn’t sound strained even a little bit. “It’s like bench pressing a broom.” 

“Fuck you very much.” Shane says, and hopes he doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels. “I weight a little more than a broom. I weight at least as much as a Swiffer.” 

Ryan laughs again, and when he brings Shane back down to his chest, he kisses him on the back of his neck. Shane barely stifles a gasp, biting his lip harshly as Ryan pushes him back up into the air. The kiss triggers all of his carefully packaged thoughts, fantasies, and avoided interests, and all at once the _Kill Bill_ sirens are going off in Shane’s head, all the lights are flashing, the voice over the intercom is telling him to run as fast as he fucking can-- 

Shane has to pass a squeak off as a cough of sorts when Ryan brings Shane back down and whispers, right into his ear: “Ready to admit they lived up to the hype?” 

_Play it cool, play it cool you absolutely useless homosexual!!!_ Shane’s brain yells at him, over the noise of the sirens and Ryan’s strong breathing and little, actually appealing grunts from lifting Shane’s body up over and over again, Jesus H. Christ-- 

“Nah,” Shane says, and almost cries in relief when his voice comes out steady. “Not impressed whatsoever. I think I need some more evidence, little guy.” 

“I’ll show you little guy!” Ryan growls playfully, and if Shane thought he wanted to die before, it’s nothing compared to how much he wants to _right fucking now._

Ryan carefully pushes him over onto the carpet and while Shane is rearranging his limbs, cursing softly, Ryan is already on his feet again. He reaches a hand down and Shane accepts it, stumbling all the way up. He holds on a little tighter than he should need to at his age and time spent in a relationship with Ryan Steven Bergara. 

“Climb on piggyback style.” Ryan tells him, turning around. Shane takes a long, painful moment to stare at the shifting of Ryan’s back muscles and very, very firm backside. 

Despite the evidence provided telling Shane he should laugh it off and tell Ryan that he’s tired of exercising, to avoid digging himself an even deeper hole, Shane wraps his arms around Ryan’s shoulders like the shit idiot fucking fool he is. Ryan crouches down to wrap his hands around the backs of Shane’s knees, and when Ryan tells him to jump, he does, just enough for him to pick him up. Shane almost swears again when he leaves the air and the only thing holding him up is Ryan. He hasn’t been given a piggyback ride since he was in elementary school, and it feels odd and slightly arousing in a very freaky, uncomfortable way. 

“Back when I was a kid, we all used to go over to my friend Isaac’s house and horse around together,” Ryan tells him, and then _begins to do squats while Shane is perched on his back._ “One of our favorite games was doing relay races where we had to carry someone on our back the entire time, or transfer them in between racers without dropping them. I always came in first.”

“I can see why,” Shane says in what’s supposed to be a joking way, but comes out reedy and high pitched. Ryan doesn’t seem to notice, just continues to do squats with Shane curled around him like a monkey. 

“It might be because Jake was usually my racing partner,” Ryan laughs, and when Shane thinks he’s doing to drop into another squat, Ryan instead moves forward into a lunge. Shane’s mind is wiped of any thought, sound, or sensation that isn’t shock at how Ryan can get so close to the floor with a grown ass man on his back and stand up without so much as a hitch in his breath or a torn ligament. Shane aches to push his hands under Ryan’s tank top and feel his abs contract as he moves. “He always knew how to sit on my back to make it look like he was weighing me down but was actually giving me the freest movement possible. We used to rule our street, back in the day.” 

“I bet,” Shane replies, instead of, “If you don’t put me down right now you’re going to feel my hard on digging into your back in about two seconds.” 

“You don’t sound so impressed, babe,” Ryan laughs, and when he goes down into another lunge, playfully nibbles on Shane’s arm where it’s resting near his chin. It takes every fiber, every molecule in Shane’s body to keep him from grinding up into Ryan’s lower back. “This not doing it for you either?” 

_You have no fucking clue, honey,_ Shane yells internally, and out loud says: “Sure your arms aren’t get too tired yet? I thought I felt a muscle spasm. I don’t know how much more they can handle.” 

It’s extremely weak as far as razzes go, but Shane’s thinking with about 70% less oxygen and blood in his brain than usual, so he has to work with what he’s got. If Ryan weren’t trying so hard to prove a point, he might notice this too, but as it goes, Ryan has the insane laser-focus he usually reserves for research set on making sure Shane knows how completely and totally ripped his boyfriend is. As if Shane hasn’t been painfully aware of this fact since he met Ryan on his first goddamn day of working at the office.

It’s why he says, “Oh, they can handle whatever you want them to handle!” instead of calling Shane out on his weak attempt to stay on top. 

“Yeah right!” Shane scoffs, nearly shaking in anticipation. 

Ryan makes a noise somewhere in between a battle cry and one of his horrendous workout grunts, and then he swings Shane around until they’re facing each other. Shane goes with an aborted yell, arms tightening around Ryan’s shoulders as his legs fall away from his hips. Ryan’s arm slides around his waist like an iron bar, but before Shane can focus on _that_ and have even more of a meltdown, he’s being settled onto the floor and Ryan is going with him. 

Shane feels a little bit like a damsel, blinking up at Ryan with fucking stars in his eyes while sprawled out on the carpet. Ryan looms above him, arms caging his head in, a playful grin spread across his gorgeous face. Shane breathes out through his nose, but Ryan still doesn’t seem to notice that he’s on the verge of losing his shit. 

“Now, you just lay there and look pretty,” Ryan tells him, pushing himself up onto his hands. Shane realizes, his stomach twisting, that Ryan is going to do the Boyfriend Pushup Move at the same time that Ryan finishes with: “And let me show you just how much my arms can handle.” 

There are no quips, jokes, or snarky remarks that Shane can say to that particular sentence. He can hardly remember his own fucking name with the way Ryan is looking down at him _\--fuck,_ looking _down,_ Ryan hardly ever gets to look down at Shane--never mind a sensible, somewhat funny retort. All his mind can convey to him is _goddammit look at the sweat on his collarbones_ and _he just called me pretty, what a fucking asshole._

Ryan seems to take his silence as a challenge, and his playful grin turns into the leer he sent Shane earlier. To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Ryan has never looked sexier than he does in this moment, as much as that pains Shane to admit. He watches as Ryan starts to do push-ups above him with that leer firmly in place. His biceps bulge beautifully every time that he lowers himself down to Shane and then lifts himself back up, and even though he can’t see them, Shane knows what Ryan’s back muscles must look like right now, shifting and coiling as he steadily moves his body up and down. Shane counts to ten, fifteen, twenty, and Ryan shows no signs of tiring or giving up. There’s sweat beading up on his forehead and dripping into the fabric of his tank top, but other than that, he shows no sign of being affected by his workout. 

And then, because Ryan apparently thinks that he isn’t devastating enough as it is, when he comes back down on his next push-up, he gives Shane a little kiss on the cheek. 

“Ryan--” Shane’s voice is noticeably uneven. 

Ryan grins deviously. “I knew I could get you to break.” 

Shane clams up, forgetting himself and their game. He refuses to let Ryan win, he refuses to give him the satisfaction, he refuses-- 

Ryan comes back down and kisses his other cheek. Shane takes a deep breath and wills away the flush crawling up his neck. He hasn’t been flustered by a cheek kiss since fucking middle school, and he’s not about to return to _those_ times. He’s not about to regress back to when he was a hormonal, confused teenager who got flustered by every single thing. He’s not about to go back to the moment where, when he watched the original _X-Men_ movie for the first time, at fourteen years old, he almost creamed his pajama pants at just the sight of Hugh Jackman’s jacked, hairy, and blood-covered body as Wolverine. He’s just not! 

Except, that, maybe he is. 

Ryan comes down again and hovers there, not moving in to kiss him or moving to push himself back up. He just holds himself there, leaving only enough space for a single piece of paper to fit in between their bodies. Shane holds his breath, staring into Ryan’s dark, glossy eyes and trying not to let himself close that remaining distance. Ryan laughs, nothing more than a huff, and kisses Shane’s chin before going back up.

He comes down over and over again, kissing Shane’s jawline and his brows and the middle of his forehead, and even the tip of his nose, but he never kisses Shane on the mouth. The more that he kisses around it, the more Shane has to fight the urge to squirm, or the urge to wrap his arms around Ryan’s big, obscenely muscled shoulders and pull him all the way down. 

The breaking point is when Ryan kisses the space between his nose and his lips, right above his cupid’s bow. He’s so fucking close to where Shane wants him, but not close enough, and when Shane jerks his chin up like he’s going to kiss him for real, Ryan pulls away. Shane whines without meaning to, and Ryan stares down at him, lips parted. Most of the humor on his face has been replaced by heat, pupils blown and what’s left of the brown a molten umber. 

Shane sees his biceps tremble for a split second, but he doesn’t know if it’s from the strain of holding his body _just above_ Shane’s or if it’s from the effort of not letting it drop down. 

A grin spreads across Ryan’s face again, filthy and conniving, like this really is just a game to him, like toying with Shane is the end goal. He makes sure that he’s got Shane’s complete, total, undivided attention, and then he takes his left arm and tucks it behind his back. Shane feels like he’s going to have a conniption fit as he watches Ryan start to do another set of slow, tortured push-ups with only one arm. Every time he bends down, he gets as close to Shane’s lips as he can without touching them, and then he pushes himself away. Shane has to physically dig his fingers into the carpet to keep himself from touching. 

Ryan stares down at him for a long moment when he pushes himself back up, and Shane stares back, utterly entranced. And then Ryan leans down on that arm and pushes his mouth against the shell of Shane’s ear and whispers, voice raspy and amused: 

“I think my arms can handle it just fine. But… I’m not so sure about _you.”_

Shane thinks: _Fuck you, I’m handling it just fine._

And then Shane thinks: _Fuck this, I’ve never handled anything well in my entire life._

He makes a bitten-off sound and moves without another thought. Both hands go immediately to the sides of Ryan’s head and Shane pulls him down into a bruising kiss. 

The progression of no contact to full contact happens in a millisecond and leaves his head spinning. Ryan groans deeply when their lips meet, and he bends his knees until he’s got them pressed to the insides of Shane’s spread thighs, pushing them even farther apart. He moves his right arm until it’s up around the top of Shane’s head and uses his other one to cup Shane’s face and tilt it where he wants it. Shane lets Ryan control the kiss, lets Ryan move his head and deepen it when he decides to and does his best to hold on. Ryan kisses him deeply, like he’s been starving for it since they started this little game of theirs, and Shane gives as good as he gets. 

Ryan doesn’t pull away until Shane’s hands fall from his hair to his biceps. Shane moans a little when he feels Ryan’s muscles shifting under his touch, tightening and then relaxing as he moves above him. When Ryan leans back, breathing heavily, Shane looks down at where his hands are wrapped around Ryan’s arms. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Shane doesn’t mean to say, but all filter function has been completely obliterated at this point. “It should be fucking criminal how easy it is for you to do that.” 

“Do what?” Ryan asks, and god, his voice sounds completely wrecked already. Deep and throaty and fucked out. 

“Any of it, all of it,” Shane babbles, squeezing Ryan’s biceps. Ryan flexes again, just to let Shane feel the muscle moving, and he makes another embarrassing sound. “Bench press me, hold me on your back while doing squats and lunges, do push-ups over me and hold yourself in place.” 

Shane swallows, finally looks back into Ryan’s fierce eyes, and admits: “Make me feel small.” 

Ryan lets out a sharp breath and leans down again, so close that their lips brush when he talks. 

“You look so good like this, laying under me and waiting for me to tell you what to do. Letting me take control.” He gives Shane a soft, sweet kiss. “Love making you feel small.” 

And just like that, Shane is achingly hard. He pulls Ryan into another deep, hungry kiss, arms curling tightly around his shoulders. Ryan moves his arms from Shane’s head and trails his hands down his sides, gentle and strong at the same time. Shane squirms the way he’d been holding back from doing the whole time Ryan was doing push-ups, and Ryan groans appreciatively, squeezing his hips. When Shane jerks up at the feeling of Ryan’s strong hands on them, Ryan wraps his arms around his waist and _pulls him up_ until their groins are perfectly aligned. Shane can feel Ryan’s shoulder and back muscles bunching as he does, and he swears against the wet heat of Ryan’s mouth. 

Ryan moves a hand from his hips down underneath one of his thighs and hitches it over his own hips; when Shane curls his leg around Ryan, toes pressed against the bare skin of his leg, Ryan grinds down. 

“Fuck,” Shane gasps, head tilting back. Ryan keeps grinding down in the same controlled, fluid motion that’s already driving Shane nuts, putting his muscles back to work. Shane really does feel like he’s a teenager again, grinding with his boyfriend on the floor. Feels like he’s already going to come like it’s his first time touching another boy. 

Ryan’s hand is tight and hot where it’s clamped around Shane’s thigh, hold almost painfully tight. That slight edge of pain just drives Shane even crazier, until he’s pushing back against Ryan as hard as his position will let him. Even through the layers of their pants and their boxers, Shane can feel how hard Ryan is, just from picking Shane up and hovering over him. It makes him hike his other leg over Ryan’s waist, until he’s completely wrapped around his boyfriend and only his upper body is touching the floor. 

Even though his brain feels like soup, and Shane knows that he should probably just shut the fuck up for once and let it go, he finds himself still trying to talk, trying to rile Ryan up even more. 

“Bet you could--” Shane has to pause to catch his breath, losing himself in the sensation of Ryan’s strong hand curled around his leg. “Bet you could do this without me even touching the ground, huh?” 

Ryan laughs, but it doesn’t sound humored; it sounds like the kind of laugh meant to convey _you really want me to lose it, don’t you?_ Instead of responding, Ryan just slides the hand on Shane’s thigh up until it’s tucked under Shane’s shoulders. He pulls Shane against his chest, until not a single part of his body is touching the carpet, and then he grinds down, slow and hot and mindblowing. 

The noise Shane makes is something he’s both extremely proud of and not proud of whatsoever. 

“Fuck,” Shane says for the millionth time, because his brain is really just a whirlwind of the word at varying volumes. Ryan kisses Shane’s jaw when he pushes their hips together again. It makes his gut flip over, and makes him gasp out: “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come if you keep that up.” 

Ryan gives him an exasperated look. “I thought that was the whole point of this, uh, exercise?” 

“You knew?” Shane chokes out, still trying to choose between thinking about being embarrassed and thinking about how hard his dick is right now. 

Ryan laughs again, and then groans when Shane tightens his legs around his waist. “Of course I knew. I knew as soon as I came out of the bathroom wearing my workout clothes. You haven’t stopped looking at me for the past 45 minutes.” 

Shane flushes, but feels pretty past the stages of being humiliated. What’s the point in being embarrassed if this is how Ryan is going to react to it? 

“Can’t help it. Every time you put on shorts I think about getting on my knees and taking you out of them.” 

Ryan makes a harsh noise and sits back on his haunches, bringing Shane with him. Shane remains wrapped around him, and Ryan still doesn’t tremble, doesn’t give away any sign that he’s nearing exhaustion. 

“Knew that too.” Ryan holds Shane in place, hands clamped around his hips like a vice to keep him from grinding down again. “Knew it the first time we did a video together for the Testies.” 

“You didn’t,” Shane whines, unable to do anything but look helplessly down into Ryan’s hungry face. 

Ryan smirks, one hand slipping down to palm Shane through his sweatpants. His other hand holds Shane back from pushing into it, and Shane whines again, fingers going white-knuckled on Ryan’s skin. 

“I absolutely fucking did. You’re not exactly subtle about your feelings towards my calves, dude. It’s almost as bad as your feelings towards my arms.” Shane pushes his face into Ryan’s hair, overwhelmed by Ryan’s stationary hand on his throbbing cock and by the knowledge that Ryan has known about his _thing_ for him working out since The Year of Our Lord 2015. “I knew it from the second we started doing the first cardio barre session and you kept saying you were ‘flushed from exertion, goodness gracious.’ while checking my ass out in the mirrors.” 

“It was the noises,” Shane babbles, thinking back to that workout and the way Ryan folded himself over the barre. “They kept distracting me.” 

“Why do you think I kept making them?” Ryan asks, barely above a growl, and squeezes Shane’s dick. “Seeing the way they make you blush like a schoolgirl is well worth the teasing.” 

Shane crushes their mouths together again, and when he tries to move his hips, Ryan lets him. Shane pushes into the heat of Ryan’s palm and moans, desperate to be touched by him in every single way possible. 

He ruts against Ryan and kisses him deeply, and Ryan eventually thinks to ask: “Do you want to come with all of your clothes on like we’re in college or do you still want to put these guns to good use?” 

Shane feels his biceps flex again, feels every single muscle in Ryan’s upper body coil tight, and he moans even louder. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan huffs against his mouth, and then suddenly he’s standing up, both hands moving to cup Shane’s ass. 

He gets to his feet with only a slight stagger and walks them over to the bed, holding Shane up easily. Which, Shane muses to himself, is no small feat, seeing as how he’s carrying a 6’4” gangly idiot who can’t stop squirming around and kissing Ryan to save his life. The world spins one more time, and Shane finds himself on his back, limbs flung across the sheets and Ryan looming above him. 

His boyfriend gives him a very obvious, lingering once-over, facial expression unmistakably ravenous. Shane can’t help but equate it to a wolf cornering its prey, and then can’t help the bright spark of arousal he feels at that particular comparison. 

When Ryan takes his fill, he reaches down and curls his hands into the bottom of Shane’s hoodie. He uses the hold to pull his hips right to the edge of the bed, leans down, and tells him: 

“I’ve always wanted to hold you down and fuck you senseless, fuck you until _all_ you could think about was me holding you down.” Shane’s dick jumps at words, and Ryan grins, pushing his hoodie up to expose his belly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, _little guy.”_

Shane’s breath stutters audibly at the words. Ryan hums, going through the motions of divesting Shane of his clothes. He’s careless about it, jostling Shane around like he’s a doll, and it ends with his hair sticking up in a million directions and his limbs spread out like some porn star getting ready for a shoot.

“I can’t get over how good you look like this,” Ryan says softly, reverently, but his tone is contradicted by the rough way he pushes his hands into Shane’s messy hair. “Like the only thing that you can handle right now is a good dick in you.” 

_“Ryan.”_ Shane groans, half-crazy with his need for Ryan to put his money where his mouth is. 

He keens when he feels Ryan’s hand tighten in his hair, forcing his head back and him to bare his throat. He couldn’t feel more exposed if there were other people in the room, watching Ryan force him into submission. 

“Maybe it’ll get you to shut up for once,” Ryan says, just this side of mean. “That not everything you taunt is going to let you walk away without teaching you a lesson.” 

Even though there’s nothing in front of him to push up against, even though the only part of Ryan touching him is the fingers he has tangled in Shane’s hair, Shane still bucks up like he’ll find something to take the edge off. The combination of Ryan holding him down and the memory of Ryan doing lunges with Shane perched on his back is making him lightheaded and frantic. 

“Please,” is the only thing Shane can think to say, out of his mind with arousal. “Just fucking do it already.” 

Ryan’s in his space, and then suddenly he’s not, across the room in the blink of an eye. Shane lets out another stuttered breath and turns his head to watch him dig through their luggage; he keeps his hands where they are, pressed against the sheets on either side of his torso, not even attempting to touch himself. 

Ryan returns a half a beat later, lube clutched in his hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground. He puts his other hand on Shane’s knee as soon as he’s able to, and Shane breathes out, looking up into Ryan’s dark eyes. 

“You didn’t even move,” Ryan murmurs, squeezing his leg. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Shane.” 

Shane swallows and looks down at Ryan’s bicep, at the way it flexes when he pushes Shane’s leg up towards his chest. “You too, Ry.” 

Ryan sets the lube on the bed and swoops down to kiss him. It forces Shane’s leg up higher, and the bulk of his body forces the other one to stretch out even further, and Shane feels like he could shake apart just like this, with Ryan holding him open and the soft fabric of his running shorts brushing over Shane’s leaking dick. 

When Shane is a panting mess, Ryan pulls away and starts to strip his own clothes off. Shane watches through slitted eyes, hands tangling in the sheets to keep them by his chest and not anywhere else. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, not reaching out to touch Ryan or himself; especially when Ryan’s finally naked, miles and miles of his beautiful skin on display and his cock hard and flushed in between his sculpted thighs. 

“I feel like a Harlequin character, waiting to get dicked down by her handsome Viking beau.” 

Ryan’s face doesn’t even change when Shane blurts this out. He just picks the lube back up, eyes raking over him. 

“You look like a Harlequin character,” Ryan says, coating his fingers. “All that pale, soft skin and those Bambi eyes.” He pushes a finger against Shane’s entrance, smirking again. “So warm and pink _‘right there.”_

Shane groans as Ryan slowly opens him up, eyes fluttering shut. His hands tangle in the sheets to keep him from shoving back onto Ryan’s fingers, and the low, approving noise Ryan makes in response is worth the way he feels like he’s going to shake right out of his skin. Sex with Ryan is magical and wonderful and mindblowing every time it happens, because they know each other’s tells and all the spots that make each other howl. But Shane hasn’t been this wild for it in a long time, hasn’t been practically gagging for it long enough that he can’t remember the last time he was reduced to nothing but a series of noises. 

When Ryan deems him loose enough, he pulls his fingers out and slicks himself up, cursing at the feeling of touching his dick for the first time. Shane peels his eyes open and watches as Ryan’s brow furrows, as he gets lost in the feeling of touching himself. 

“I thought you were gonna fuck me,” Shane says, with as much brattiness as he can manage when his entire body feels like a livewire. “Show me that those muscles live up to the hype.” 

The taunt works better than he could have hoped for. He expects Ryan to say something along the lines of: “Oh, I’ll _show_ you, you punk.” and grab him by the hips. But instead, he collects both of Shane’s wrists with his clean hand and pins them to the mattress above his dishevelled head, leaning down until their noses are nearly touching. 

“I am gonna fuck you,” Ryan promises, voice like hot, blistering gravel. It makes Shane’s dick twitch again, makes Ryan smile dangerously. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking talk back to me, and then I’m gonna fuck you some more.” 

Shane tugs on his hands, just to test Ryan’s hold. They don’t budge an inch, and Shane whines, mind starting to go white and fuzzy just from the sensation of Ryan holding him down. 

Ryan’s lips brush his ear, and he whispers, “Use the color system if you need me to slow down or stop.” and then he hooks his sticky hand under Shane’s knee again and shoves it up to his heaving chest. Shane gets one last moment of feeling completely and totally exposed, one last moment of Ryan staring down at his flushed face and fluttering hole and loving how out of control he feels, before Ryan is pushing into him with a grunt. 

Getting fucked by Ryan while also being completely at his mercy is… it’s a lot. Shane loses all coherent thought and reason two minutes into it, adrift in the sensation of Ryan pounding into him and his hand never losing its grip on his wrists. He goes wild for it when Ryan hitches Shane’s thigh up even further to find a better angle to fuck into him, hold bruising and controlling, taking what he wants and how he wants it. When he finds Shane’s prostate, it lights fireworks off of every single nerve in his body, and Ryan keeps hitting it over and over again. It feels like too much and not enough all at once, like Shane doesn’t know if he’s going to come or if he’s going to combust like all of the fireworks sizzling inside of him. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s making too much noise until he throws his other leg around Ryan’s pistoning hips in an attempt to ground himself. Ryan moans when Shane curls around him, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, and Shane moans back so loudly it might as well be a wail. 

“Shh,” Ryan pants, hips stuttering. His eyes are wide and glassy, and looks like he wants Shane to keep screaming, wants Shane to let the whole building know what they’re up to. But instead of indulging them, he reels them back in. “You need to be quiet.” 

“Rich coming from you,” Shane moans, shifting his hips desperately. “You’ve never been quiet a day in your life.” 

“Yeah, well we’re not talking about me right now, are we, baby? You’re the one who’s going to get us kicked out on a noise complaint. Or make Devon come over here and kill us.” 

Shane makes a frustrated sound, pulling against Ryan’s hold; his hands don’t budge, and it makes his cock throb, precome drooling out of the head. 

“Don’t talk about her while you’re fucking me,” Shane says, toes curling when Ryan thrusts in just right. “Don’t talk at all and just _fuck me._ I’ve been hard for an hour, watching you prance around in those fucking shorts and listening to you huff and puff.” 

Ryan hitches a leg up onto the bed and props it underneath the one of Shane’s he’s been holding, effectively pinning him in place. It changes the angle, Ryan’s dick hitting his prostate hard enough to make stars explode behind his eyes, and he cries out again, loud and unashamed. The hand previously gripping onto his thigh covers Shane’s mouth, muffling the steady stream of curses and whimpering. 

Shane blinks up at Ryan, eyes wide and dick so hard it could cut diamonds. If Ryan moved down, just a little bit, he’d be-- 

He releases a strangled sobbing noise, pushing his hips down. In response, Ryan pushes his hand down so that Shane can feel his own teeth pressing against the back of his lips. 

“I said _be quiet,”_ Ryan hisses, thrusting in hard enough that it shoves him up the bed a few inches. “Or I’m going to fuck you and leave you here. Got it?” 

Shane nods after a few moments of staring, a hot surge of arousal flooding his gut. Ryan’s biceps flex when he tightens his grip on Shane’s hands, when he moves to loom above him, and he clings to Ryan’s sides with his trembling legs. 

Ryan smiles, an endearing mixture of fondness and heat, and leans down to kiss Shane’s forehead. 

“You can hold on for a few more minutes,” Ryan tells him, picking the pace up again. “You’ve been really good so far.” 

_That_ particular comment makes Shane moan deeply (it would have echoed throughout the entire room had Ryan’s hand not been over his mouth) and makes Ryan’s hips slam into his as hard as he can. Shane longs for Ryan to reach down and fold that strong, unyielding hand around the stretch of his throat, but thinks, through the fog in his head, that that's a conversation for another night. 

The pressure in his gut builds like a gun about to be fired, heat coiling and twisting until it’s almost unbearable. Ryan nails his prostate on every thrust, and the sensation of being controlled and used sends him into a mindset that he finds similar to being high. Floaty, fuzzy, pliant, completely at the will of an outside force. He doesn’t know if he wants to curl a hand around his aching cock or if he wants to finish with both of Ryan’s hands holding him down against the bed, only moving when Ryan wants him to move. 

One second, he’s trying to decide if he should ask Ryan to touch him, or if he wants to feel that marathon run towards the end, and then next Ryan is moving his hand off of Shane’s mouth and gently wrapping fingers around his bared neck, like he could fucking hear Shane clamoring for it in his head, and tells him: 

“When we get home, I’m going to fuck you against the wall and let you scream as loud as you want, baby, just fucking wait--” 

And Shane is coming without a single finger on his cock. Ryan slams their mouths together to keep Shane from screaming in _this_ room, and Shane kisses back as best as he can, come spurting long ropes up his stomach and chest. He feels wrung out like a sponge, like he’s floating on a cloud, like his mind and body are separate. He hasn’t felt this well and thoroughly fucked since the last time he was desperate enough for Ryan’s cock to beg for it, a trend he vaguely notes he needs to keep up in the future. 

“Fuck, you’re unbelievable,” Ryan hisses, finally letting go of Shane’s wrists to plant his hand on the bed. Shane doesn’t move them, just lays pliantly on the bed and lets Ryan fuck him, blinking up at him. “Came on just my cock, without a hand on you.” 

Shane shakes his head, finally coming back to himself enough to remember to clench down. 

“Your hands had everything to do with it.” He reaches up and touches the hand still on his neck, pushing his thumb into Ryan’s thundering pulse. “Next time, I want this one here from start to finish. And I want you to _squeeze.”_

Ryan’s hips slam into him once, twice, and then he’s coming with a muffled shout, head dropping down onto Shane’s chest. Shane works him through it, reveling in the familiar feeling of Ryan’s cock jerking inside of him, and the hot, sticky feeling of being stuffed full of come. 

Ryan’s panting harshly when he finally pushes himself back onto his hands. All of that exhaustion Shane has been waiting to see since they started this game appears in the corners of Ryan’s eyes and mouth, his smile sleepy and sated. 

“Jesus,” Ryan groans, pushing a hand through Shane’s wrecked hair. “Warn a guy before you drop a bomb like that.” 

“Just like the one you dropped about fucking me until I couldn’t ‘talk back’ anymore?” Shane holds his breath when Ryan laughs and pulls out of him, resting a soothing hand on his ribs. He feels pleasantly, perfectly exhausted and gross. “Another A+ example of you giving but not being able to take.” 

Ryan drags his hands down Shane’s flushed, sweaty body, grin absolutely dazzling. 

“The same really can’t be said for you,” he tells Shane, one hand drifting down to cup his ass. “That was incredible.” 

“Mmhm.” Shane agrees, sighing. “You’re welcome.” 

_“I’m_ welcome?” Ryan repeats, shocked. “That would have never happened unless I decided to workout in here.” 

“Yeah, but I’m the one who has the thing for your thing,” Shane says, flapping a hand around. “And the one who offered to help you workout, so. You might be the kindling, but I’m the flame.” 

Ryan scoffs and gets off of the bed, taking his hands with him. “You really can’t ever let me have anything, huh?” 

“Nope,” Shane says, and still doesn’t move from his position on his back, limbs a messy sprawl. 

He hears Ryan turn on the tap in the bathroom, and then hears him shuffle out, coming back to the bed. He looks at Ryan’s face as he goes about cleaning them both up with the scratchy washcloth, heart melting at the soft, loving expression he finds. “It’s a good thing you can.” 

“Good thing I can what?” 

Shane grins. “Let me have it.” 

Ryan slaps him with the washcloth and then tosses it onto the floor, laughing brightly. “Shut up, dude. You’re ruining my post-coital glow.” 

“We don’t deserve a post-coital glow for this round,” Shane tells him solemnly, even as he lets Ryan manhandle him to the dry side of the bed and get them under the covers. “That was the worst sex we’ve ever had.” 

“Harsh, babe.” 

“It’s the truth, though.” Shane curls his arms around Ryan’s shoulders, fingers drifting thoughtlessly over his muscles. “I got hot and bothered over you working out, like some dumbass watching the hot guy at the gym lift weights and go wild on the elliptical. Not only am I disappointed in myself, but greatly disturbed that I have a thing for douchey Ace McGee types.” 

Shane laughs when Ryan gives him an incredulous look, until they’re both giggling as quietly as they can manage and kissing each other to stifle it. 

“Was it good, though?” Ryan asks, once they’ve gotten ahold of themselves. 

Shane rolls his eyes. “Yes, Ryan, it was great. Your dick was out of this world, eleven out of ten, the sexy, throbbing member of my dreams, etcetera.” 

“You can cool it with the Harlequin analogies now, please and thanks.” 

Shane takes a hand off of Ryan’s shoulders to press it to his forehead, gasping dramatically. 

“Oh, Mr. Bergara, your quivering sex penetrated me so deeply, I could feel in my stomach, my heart, my throat! It was such a deliciously bad deed we did! So sinful, and so, so wonderful!” 

“Fucking Christ, please stop--” 

There’s a loud, pointed thump on the wall, and the two of them stop and stare at each other. And then they’re giggling again, heads pressed close on the same pillow. 

“We’re going to hear all about this tomorrow,” Ryan tells him. 

“We are indeed,” Shane agrees, kissing him softly. “Good thing it was your fault.” 

“Good thing it was yours,” Ryan retorts, eyes sliding shut. Shane follows suit, hand taking its place back on Ryan’s broad, warm shoulders. 

Just as Shane is drifting off, he feels Ryan’s hands curl around his hips, feels him take a small breath, and then hears him ask: 

“So does this mean that my muscles lived up to the hype?” 

“Shut up, or you’re going to sleep with TJ.” 

He feels it when Ryan grins against his neck. “I’m sure he would be thrilled to experience the hype.” 

“Yeah--the hype of ending your life.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Kayla for the kick in the ass and to Ryan Steven Bergara’s beautiful muscles and Shane Alexander Madej's underrepresented need to be fucked for once.
> 
> Sorry that I haven’t put up the sequel to “leave me high and dry” yet, I've just been really scared that that was a fluke of PWP abilities and I'll never be able to write good, easy smut like that again. I’m hoping that publishing this will give me the confidence to write and publish that fic since I’ve been really scared of not delivering something as well received :( It’s coming though!!! I promise!!!! Just like Shane will be coming xoxo


End file.
